Chapter 5

"Istill can't believe I thought the ball was next week," Ezra said, shaking his head as their carriage pulled up outside the home of Lord and Lady Hope.

It was a grand house, built in a neo-classical style, with colonnades and an arched portico, beneath which a steady stream of fashionably dressed men and women were making their way inside.

"Were you intending to bring someone, Brother? A lady friend, perhaps?" Derek asked.

Ezra laughed. "Perhaps I was going to bring two or three. What would you have said to that, Derek?"

Derek grimaced. "I'd have reminded you of your Christian duty, Ezra. A man in your position shouldn't behave in such a way—two or three, indeed."

Lydia laughed. "He's teasing you, Derek. I'd be surprised if he could find one woman to accompany him to the ball, let alone two or three," she teased.

Ezra laughed. "You'll see," he replied.

"Oh, do stop bickering. My nerves can't stand it. Besides, all three of you already have two charming and attractive ladies to dance with—the best in the room," their mother chided, and the three brothers looked at one another in surprise.

"Two, between three?" Graham asked.

Lady Morton narrowed her eyes. "You know them very well, Graham—Miss Joanna and Miss Lydia," she said.

Lydia burst out laughing as her brother now realized what their mother was saying.

"But of course, Mother. We wouldn't dream of dancing with anyone else until each of us danced with you and Lydia," Derek interjected.

A footman opened their carriage door, and Lydia climbed out, glancing from left to right to see who else was in attendance. But there were so many people—ladies dressed in every shade imaginable, and gentlemen in their frock coats—that singling out any individuals was an impossible task.

"Might I escort you, Lydia?" Ezra asked, holding out his arm to his sister.

With Derek doing the same for their mother, the five of them made their way inside.

The front doors led into a grand hallway, with a checkered marble floor and a staircase rising to a gallery above. Plush red velvet curtains, held back by gold ties, framed the double doors beyond which was the ballroom—another grand room, with columns on either side and large windows looking out over the gardens at the back of the house.

A string quartet was playing in the corner, and another door at the far end of the ballroom led into an ante-room, where a number of tables were laden with refreshments.

"What a truly grand affair. I always enjoy the Hope Ball," Lady Morton commented, just as Lord and Lady Hope themselves came to greet them.

"Ah, Lady Morton, how nice to see you—and you too, Lord Morton," Lady Hope said, taking Lady Morton's hand in her own.

She was an ancient-looking woman, her silver hair matching her pearls, wearing a white shawl around her shoulders and a flowing white dress. Lord Hope, too, was similarly ancient, and walked with a stoop and a stick, though his eyes were keen and alert.

"Lady Hope, it's so kind of you to invite us. I was just saying to my children how much I enjoy the Hope Ball each year. It's really such a wonderful occasion," Lady Morton gushed.

"We hope you enjoy the evening—the dancing will commence soon. I think most of the guests are here. One always sends out more invitations than one expects to receive replies to. But this year, we've had hardly any refusals," Lady Hope said.

Further pleasantries were exchanged before Lord and Lady Hope went to greet the next set of guests. Lydia looked around her with interest, trying to spot anyone she might know. There were plenty of familiar faces, but as for someone she might actually want to talk to…

"Let's go and see what's on offer in there. My stomach's rumbling, and I need a drink" Graham murmured, pointing towards the ante-room, where the refreshments were laid out.

"I think I'd like some fresh air," Lydia said, for the ballroom already felt somewhat stifling.

"I'll come with you," Ezra offered.

Lydia was glad to have her oldest brother to herself for a few moments as Derek and their mother followed Graham to the ante-room.

Of her three brothers, Ezra was by far the wisest, though Derek was the intellectual. But Ezra was the one who could always be relied on to offer sage advice, and Lydia was curious to know what he thought about their mother's suggestion of Philip as a suitor.

"Are you pleased you came?" Lydia asked.

Ezra smiled. "I suppose so. But… well, these things always feel so staged, don't they? There's nothing natural about them—women on one side, men on the other. Matches made…" He shook his head.

Lydia did not know why her eldest brother—or any of her brothers, for that matter—should remain unmarried. They were all blessed with abundant merits, such that any woman would have been delighted to call any one of them her own.

"But that's how it is, isn't it? Don't you want to make a match?" she asked.

He smiled. "I suppose so, but… well, when it happens, it happens. Mother certainly wants you to make one, though—and so do I," he said.

"Why? Do you want to get rid of me? Am I such a burden to you? I don't like the way she's putting pressure on me," Lydia protested.

They had stepped out onto the terrace and were now looking out across the gardens at the river. It was a beautiful evening, the sun still warm, and a golden light falling on the lawns and flower beds, where every shade of color was blooming in a riot of summer growth.

Ezra turned to Lydia and shook his head. "You could never be a burden to me, Lydia. You're my sister, and I love you dearly. But I want you to be happy, too. I want you to marry, if that's what you want."

Lydia nodded. "It is what I want, yes. But on my own terms, not anyone else's. I know Mother means well, but she can be so overbearing at times. It's quite stifling. It was one conversation. I know she and Philip's mother have rekindled their friendship, but as for talking about matches… it's too much."

Ezra was the only person she could say such things to. Her mother would not listen, preferring her own way of thinking on the matter. Derek would offer a moralistic perspective, and Graham would make a joke of things. But Ezra was different. He would tell her what he was really thinking, and not some thinly veiled platitude…

"It is, yes. Don't let Mother sweep you along with her ideas. You barely know him. You've talked to him once over coffee at the wedding. The last time the two of you met, you parted acrimoniously. But you were still almost children back then, each of you finding your way in the world. You were friends then, but it doesn't mean you'll be friends now. Mother just wants what's best for you. But it has to be your choice, Lydia," he said.

Lydia nodded. She was glad her brother was on her side. She barely knew Philip—it had been seven years, and so much time had passed since then.

"Then… do you think I should dance with other men this evening?" Lydia asked.

Her brother smiled. "I think you should dance with any man you choose, Lydia. If that means Philip, so be it. But if it means someone else, then that's perfectly acceptable, too. I only want you to be happy, Lydia."

Lydia smiled back. "I am, Ezra. I've got three wonderful brothers to look after me, and Mother, too—even if she can be somewhat overbearing."

Ezra placed his hand on her arm. "And you will always will do. But… ah, speak of the devil," he whispered.

Turning around, Lydia caught sight of Philip emerging onto the terrace.

The sight of him caused her heart to skip a beat. She had expected to see him, and yet she felt nervous, too, wondering if his mother had made similar suggestions. He spotted them at once, crossing over to where they were standing with a smile on his face.

"I've just seen your mother. She told me you were out here," Philip said, bowing to Lydia, before holding out his hand to Ezra.

Lydia still did not know what her brother really thought of Philip. They had been friends once, but they had also drifted apart, and Lydia did not believe the two men had exchanged a single word in the past seven years either.

"We were just taking the air," Ezra replied, sounding somewhat off-handish.

"It's a beautiful garden, isn't it?" Philip said, glancing at Lydia, who nodded.

"Very beautiful, yes. The colors are so vibrant," she agreed.

"Do you remember when you fell into the bed of roses? They were your mother's pride and joy. Not one of them survived," Philip added.

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "I remember being thrown into them," she shot back, glaring at him.

Philip laughed. "If I hadn't thrown you, you'd have thrown me. One of us was going to end up in there," he said.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm going back inside. I'll leave the two of you to talk. I'm sure you can be trusted," Ezra piped up, and nodding to Philip, he left the two of them standing together on the terrace.

Lydia blushed. There was no question of their being trusted, but she did not appreciate being left alone with Philip, fearing the conversation would become awkward. She remembered the incident with the roses well. She and Philip had been arguing over some trivial matter. She had tripped him up, and then she had leaped on his back, the two of them wrestling with one another right next to the rose bed, where her mother had planted the flowers she intended to show at a gathering of like-minded women interested in the propagation of new strains and varieties. The flowers were perfect—a yellow color, with a hint of peach, their blooms all perfectly formed. Lydia and Philip had wrestled to the point of exhaustion, until, with a roar, Philip had thrown Lily off his back, right into the bed of flowers…

"And I got all the blame for it," Lydia scoffed, scowling at him.

Philip laughed. "You fell into it. Besides, it was you who tripped me up. I can't even remember what we were arguing over," he pointed out.

Lydia could not help but smile. She could not remember either. There had been lots of arguments like that—the sort siblings might have. Arguments about nothing in particular, but which had seemed overly important at the time. There was a sense of nostalgia in recalling them—a past long since forgotten.

"Oh, probably nothing." Lydia waved a hand in the air.

He smiled at her. "I'm sorry, shall I admit as much to your mother?" he asked somberly.

Lydia laughed. "I'm sure she hasn't forgotten. And she had no sympathy for me either. I had thorns stuck in every limb. It was horrible. Anyway, it's all in the past, isn't it?"

Philip nodded. "Indeed."

He smiled, the two of them now leaning on the balustrade and looking out over the garden.

"Don't you want to dance?" he asked.

Lydia did not know if this was an invitation or a question. No one had thus far asked her to dance, and glancing behind her, she could see couples assembling inside for the first dance of the evening as the musicians tuned up their instruments.

"No one's asked me yet. Don't you intend to dance?" she asked back.

Philip smiled. "I will do, yes. Though I'm not much of a dancer, I admit. I'm all left-footed, or right-footed, but I never seem to manage it very well," he admitted.

"Didn't they teach you to dance at school? I thought Eton taught you everything," Lydia teased.

Philip laughed. "Surprisingly enough, there wasn't much call for dancing in an all-boys boarding school. No, we didn't learn to dance. It was simply expected of us to be able to do so. As it is now. One of those strange societal expectations—like knowing which piece of cutlery to use. But I was never taught. Not properly, at least. Still, one can't be good at everything, right?" he replied, raising his eyebrows.

"Are you saying I think I'm good at everything? Or that you're good at everything else, perhaps?" Lydia asked, but Philip shook his head.

This was one of those moments when she found him infuriating—some of the things he said were simply irritating, even as she reminded herself they had both grown up. She could no longer leap on his back and wrestle with him over a dispute…

"Would I say such a thing? Never," he replied.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. They had always teased one another. It was what they did—taking a joke and making it their own. Lydia liked to tease him, but she did not particularly like to be teased in return…

"My governess taught me to dance, and I had three brothers to practice with. If you'd been around, I could've practiced with you. But since you were always away at school, I couldn't, could I?" she argued.

Philip rolled his eyes. "Yes, I was at school, Lydia. It hardly matters now, does it? I had to finish my education. A governess wasn't good enough for me."

Lydia felt her anger flaring. "Oh, I see. But a governess was good enough for me, wasn't it? Yes, the girl only needs a smattering of French and the ability to paint a passable watercolor. Heaven forbid she might actually want to do something more with her intellect—that she might even be curious to learn something about the world around her. But you must have your school, mustn't you? The perfect school, where you go to forget everyone who ever cared about you," Lydia retorted.

"Oh, nonsense. You know I don't think that. But that's the way things are, isn't it? I'm not responsible for how Society thinks," Philip said.

"But you are a product of it," Lydia pointed out, and she folded her arms and fixed him with an angry glare.

But instead of arguing back, he merely laughed at her. It was disarming, and Philip's way of telling her not to be so foolish. Lydia's lip trembled, and now she laughed, too, unable to prevent herself in the face of the look he gave her.

"We're all products of the society we inhabit, Lydia—for good or bad. But I agree, it's not right to give a woman a smattering of French and a minor talent with a paintbrush. Certainly not a woman like you," he relented.

Lydia was about to reply, but now she caught sight of Caroline and Edward. They were meant to be away on their honeymoon, and to see them there at the Hope Ball was certainly a surprise.

"Look, it's Caroline and Edward," she whispered, her bickering with Philip forgotten, as now her cousin and her new husband approached them.